


The Last Gift

by BiJane



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Episode: the Time of the Doctor, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 03:51:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1102073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BiJane/pseuds/BiJane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place during the final stretch of the Christmas Special. The cost of the Doctor's new regeneration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Last Gift

**Author's Note:**

> I saw someone absently wonder where the new regenerations came from, and wrote this in one sitting by about, ooh, two and a half hours after finishing the episode.  
> I enjoy writing things like this; tying new and old together in a way that it isn't feasible for the show to do. I hope you enjoy it too!

All of Gallifrey was poised to return. They stood on the brink of a universe, waiting only to hear whether it was the one they sought. Beneath a crimson sky, they all waited.

It was never the easiest time. The world was in chaos: Lord President Rassilon, and all of the High Council present during the execution of his scheme to escape the time lock were no longer able to rule over the world. Dead.

The details escaped most people. They knew only that the plan had been attempted and, for a time, they seemed to have succeeded. And then they were flung back, with another with them, a man muttering something about drumbeats.

And so another had been elected, a regent to take charge of Gallifrey while they recovered from the war, and worked out how to return to their home universe. An ex-President, to act in Rassilon’s place.

And every day, she sat and waited for any answer to the message.

_Doctor Who?_

There were many universes out there, many they’d detected. They spoke to each, hoping to hear a reply. Any reply.

In some, they could feel wars. Battles raged about their transmission: people died. Though it burned her, she could do nothing. If they re-entered a universe, it would be no easy feat to leave it again. They had to wait for the right one.

Before her lay a multitude of cracks. Tiny white scars in reality, a gallery composed of nothing but those tears. Some the size of a fingernail, others stretching miles: the points from which they peered into countless universe.

And then, she heard that voice. From one of the cracks, one of the many universes where a war raged, centred around the transmission.

“His name… His name is the Doctor.”

She sat up, straighter. Leant forward: called an aide in. The woman’s voice from within the truth field. She had to be telling the truth, and of whom else could she be speaking?

“All the name he needs, everything you need to know about him.”

Still truth. She nodded to her aide: gestured, silently. She didn’t want to miss a word. Even as the woman from the universe spoke, however, the Regent of Gallifrey worked. She tried to find out what she could about the universe, learn what little she was able to, through the crack, about the war.

“And if you love him, and you should, help him.”

They’d found the correct universe. They could detect a lone Time Lord nearby: or at least, some analogous species.

That pained her. So many universes bore races similar to those in their universe. More than once, they’d found what seemed, by their sensors, to be Daleks, or Cybermen, or even Doctors. The first time they’d sent someone into the universe (an elderly volunteer by the name of Borusa), he’d been able only to respond that it was a different universe.

And he had not been able to return. He’d known the risks, even when he’d left. Still, it wasn’t pleasant to know she was responsible for a Time Lord’s exile.

But this time, they’d found him. The Doctor. Her Doctor. And, by the look of it, it was his final regeneration: and it was wearing thin. He had maybe minutes more. Maybe hours. Maybe seconds. And that was if the Daleks didn’t attack.

“Help him.”

The woman spoke again. A human companion no doubt: the Regent allowed herself to smile.

They’d found home.

“Lady President?” her aide spoke, hesitant. She turned to him: smiled.

“Romana,” she said. “Call me Romana. I’m only Regent for as long as it’ll take before we can hold an election. It’s not power I have a claim to.”

“With respect, Lady President,” the aide spoke, “You have my vote.”

“Thank you,” a pause. “He’s in trouble.”

“From what I know, Lady Pre- Romana, that is nothing new.”

“True,” Romana laughed, quiet. “This time, though, it’s worse. He’s no more regenerations.”

She looked at the projection before her. It was so dispassionate: no more than flickers of light, the relative locations of the creatures they could sense beyond the boundary of the universe. A spot of bronze: Time Lord. A sea of pale white: natives to the world. And then, above and dangerously closer, a red mist. Dalek.

“We can arrange to give a new regenerative cycle,” the aide said. “With time, we can fabricate-”

“Time we don’t have,” Romana said. “He’s dying. You can see that as well as I.”

A moment of silence. The aide followed her gaze towards the images Romana had called up. All they could see of the world: a vague simulation composed of dots and colours.

The Doctor stood alone. His life was visibly fading. Not long.

“What else can we do?” the aide said.

Romana turned from the lights. Regarded him: a sad smile on her face.

“I knew him,” she said, seemingly at random. “You probably know that. Started off on official business. To be honest though, I’d say it became more. He’s a friend. A good friend. Managed to inspire confidence even when he didn’t have the slightest clue what he was doing: which was all the time, really.”

Slowly, she looked back at the projection. At the crack; the only crack they cared about. The way to their universe.

With a kind of hesitation, she reached out: her fingertips beckoned it closer, until it touched her hand.

“You know how to manage any resulting paradox, I assume?” she didn’t need to glance back. “Good. Then I can save him. Again.”

Soft gold light started to emanate from her hand, wreathing her wrist. The aide jumped, startled.

“Lady President-”

“I told you,” she said. “Romanadvoratrelundar, or Romana. Ex-President, War Queen, Heartshaven, liberator of the Tharills of E-Space… I’ve been a lot of things. But above all, there’s one thing I remember more than any of that.”

“Him?” the aide spoke.

A nod. She smiled, years seeming to lift from her as shining dust poured from her.

“More fun than you’d believe,” she said. “More than I expected. And we did more good in that short time, than I’ve done in either of my terms here. If this is what it takes to give him a second chance, it’s a price I’ll happily pay.”

Romana closed her eyes.

For a moment, she likes to imagine that he’ll know where this new energy was coming from. All of her regenerations to come, restocked by the new High Council in thanks for her work in restoring Gallifrey.

She likes to think of the light taking him in, and then being taken in. How it would envelop him, and permeate every cell in his aged body; and how he’d smile. How he’d recognize her, even after all this time. She hadn’t forgotten him, he wouldn’t have forgotten her.

She doesn’t know if that’s what’ll come to pass. She has to way to find out, and no way she will ever discover whether it happens. Still, she is able to hope: and she does so, with all her hearts.

Her last gift to the brilliant madman.

“Something I’ve got to do,” she says, quiet. “I’m trusting you Doctor. Use it well. Be superb.”

Her voice begins to crack, and fade. All her regenerations go to him: including her current. He needed all the energy she could spare, if he was to pull through.

It leaves her, startlingly quickly. To the Doctor go her futures, whirling through the crack to a universe she’d never see again.

And for just moments, she’s still connected to that energy. She feels it rush through void, and feels the distant echo of that world. And she feels him, new face but familiar mind. He was still who he’d always been.

The aide knew none of that. He saw only acting-Lady President Romana smile, her eyes dull without the golden light, and saw her speak her last word. “Hello.” 


End file.
